Of Blood and Loyalty
Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me.
A/N: Written for Rosie's birthday.
"It was a beautiful funeral."
Maura turned around, gripping her damp handkerchief, to face the speaker. It was a man in his early forties, the few gray strands in his hair misaligning with his markedly boyish and deceptively innocent face. "Are you mocking my grief?" she demanded, her voice more nasal than usual.
"Goodness, no!" replied the man, clutching a hand to his chest and adopting a horrified expression. "I should never dream of addressing you with anything but the utmost respect, Lady Maura."
"As well you ought, Sir Douglass," sniffed the lady.
The knight's hand dropped from its theatrical pose and he pulled out his own handkerchief, offering it to the girl. "Yours looks like it could use the rest," he explained.
Maura accepted the offering and allowed Douglass to take charge of hers.
"Brokefang was a very fine wolf, and a good friend to me," she said. "He deserved a proper ceremony as much as anyone else in this valley would."
"And you wanted to have something left of him, even if it was just a wooden marker," said Douglass softly.
Maura nodded. "Although, I do feel a little guilty about burying him under the apple tree."
A chuckle escaped Douglass's lips, and Maura half-smiled.
Later, when they were sitting in her study and poring over financial reports, Maura swallowed her sighs as though they were nothing more than mouthfuls of water.
"What is it?" Douglass finally asked.
"My birthday," answered Maura reluctantly.
His wide mouth quirked. "Did you not like my gift?" he asked.
"Oh, no! It was lovely, really. It's just…"
He waited.
"I'm seventeen," she finally said, a note of despair sounding in her voice.
"Are you worried about growing up? I was, at your age."
"You never did grow up, though, did you?" said Maura, scandalized.
"My point exactly," replied Douglass with a grin.
She leaned down to scribble a sum she'd been calculating and, eyes still on her figures, asked, "When I turn twenty-one…"
He waited.
"..Will you go back to Veldine? Or the palace, or the border, or…"
He reached over the stack of ink and numbers to smooth back her hair. "Nothing could cause me to leave you," he said, "not even the queen's own hand in marriage."
She snorted gracelessly. "Oh, I know that wouldn't," she said.
"Then you know me well enough to realize that I could never leave. You're as good as my daughter." His eyes sparked. "So you see, Lady Maura, you're stuck with me."
Her smile was wobbly. "And how glad I am of it, too."
